I am wrong…a lot. I admit this freely, of course, because lying about it will always come back to bite me in the ass, but let me assure you this statement does leave dents in my pride. A few weeks ago I was having a conversation with a friend and I…the poster-child for stubbornness, had insisted that “I have read books about every freaking topic on the planet.” Now, I know what you are thinking; “Misty…you are a total dumbass, that is the broadest statement imaginable.” And to that I say…”Yes, you are right.” Naturally (because Karma has it in
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When I was a little girl I used to keep a journal, not for normal reasons of course, (I’m way to unconventional for that) but to keep myself from running away. See, while most girls were busy scribbling notes about boys and what dress they were going to wear to the dance, I was busy fighting off evil warlords or exploring sunken ships. My writing was an escape, (it still is actually,) and because of it I was able to face down what I thought to be the more “problematic” issues of my adolescence. (How hard is a Geography test
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I don’t think that in all my years of reading, (or reviewing for that matter) I have ever knowingly pinned the words “fantasy” and “humorous” together. Fantasy has always been “Epic,” “Creative,” “Beautiful” but never…funny. The tales and journeys that make up the fantasy genre usually come with heart-shattering consequences, or at the very least some mind-bending self actualization, but, as a I flipped my Kindle closed on Daniel Arenson’s latest novel “Eye of the Wizard” the only coherent thought I could form was, “What the hell was that!?” (Eloquent right? LOL) The fact of the matter was…I was NOT
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When I was a teenager I was fascinated by angels. Not the puffy-winged-halo-sporting type, more the Archangel-wrath-of-God type. The fact that there was a whole army of sword wielding higher beings blew my mind. The more I read, the more I needed to read, and before I knew it I was knee deep in biblical reference material and spouting angelic tales to any poor soul that would listen. Now… like every other one of my unique (and sometimes warped fascinations) my futile need for warrior-angel information wained and I moved on, (If I remember correctly Al Capone was next on
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The most beautiful thing about fantasy novels are the languages in which they are written. (I want you to take the time to think about this for just a second.) 1. The time period in which these novels are set is seemingly insignificant. 2. The setting in which the scenes are formed is of the writers own design, and 3. The common use of gods/demons/magics open up reels of recently lost or dismissed vernacular. Here is a genre in which the author makes the rules, not conforms to them. Their characters speak in whichever manner they like, and the author
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“Firefly Island” is going to be exasperatingly difficult to review, not because I disliked the novel, but because this was a fantasy novel that had so many twists and turns that it is almost impossible to sum it up with a simple “this was good.” We all know that I love fantasy novels, there is something so fantastic and epic about them that its like having a really cool pop-up book inside of your head. They are about journeys and soul searching, conquering evil and finding ones self, they are about ogres and warriors and the kings that lead them.
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A couple of weeks ago I was having a “Best Reads of 2009″ conversation with a fellow book enthusiast; and while on most titles we disagreed (She loved the “Blue Bloods” series, while I wanted to chunk them out of a car window while cruising down the interstate at 70mph) we did agree on 1 thing… “The Mortal Instruments” series finished leaps and bounds over the rest of the competition in 2009. The series had all of the components to keep a reader captivated, separation, angst, deceitfulness, and arrogance (to name a few) but after I closed book 3 I
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